Mercifully, the day had passed with out much more damage. The Biology quiz hadn’t been bad. In fact, the only person to finish before me had been Edward. Mike had the sense to stay away from me the rest of the day, and that was a good thing. I think I was ready to attack the next hapless Y-chromosome to cross my path.
Gym had been unusually uneventful. I was actually starting to get the hang of ducking out of the way of the tetherball. Too bad it was the last day. Next Monday, we were starting softball. I was so dead.

I drove straight home, dejectedly. I had made such a big deal out of everything. I had thought maybe… no, I wouldn’t permit myself to think those forbidden thoughts again.

I pulled into the driveway and shut off the truck. Grabbing my backpack and the roses and candy, I hopped out of my truck and headed for my bedroom. The whole time I hiked up the stairs, I was growing angrier and angrier. By the time I got to my bedroom, I knew what I was going to do.

I marched over to where that stupid vase was, and I shoved the three remaining roses into the vase. One dozen freaking roses. I reached for the vase, planning to grab it and throw the whole thing away. I wanted to break it on the ground first. I wanted to watch it shatter.

But I never touched the glass.

My hands froze in front of it as a realization slowly sunk in. One: the ribbon I had found wrapped around the ninth rose I had received last night in my closet wasn’t folded by the vase anymore; it was tied around the neck in a perfect, symmetrical bow. Second: The three roses Tyler had given me were very lovely. But they looked hideous in comparison to the nine others. The first nine I had received stood out in stark contrast, shadowing over the others.

It was as if the first nine were better, more eternal, than the others. The other three were mere mortals in comparison. Like angels and mortals. I sat down slowly on the edge of my bed.

Was it possible then, that Tyler had just happened to complete my dozen without realizing it and the original nine were from someone else? I didn’t allow myself to think his name in fear of breaking my own heart again. Tyler’s roses were certainly different. I felt hope building in my chest as I took Tyler's three out and laid them on the counter beside the vase. Tyler’s roses had no hope of achieving the same utter perfection that my mystery person’s did. It simply wasn’t possible they had come from the same person.

My heart leapt into my throat at the thought Edward might have, in fact, given me the first nine. Stupid. Thinking that in the first place had hurt me. Maybe I was an emotional kamikaze.

Feeling distinctly more lighthearted, I headed downstairs to start dinner for Charlie and I. Later, I needed to clean my room before Angela arrived.

---

There was a knock on the door. Eagerly, I rushed to the door to answer it. There was Angela, bless her heart, waiting for me. I stepped back and held the door open for her, letting her step inside. I shut the door behind her before walking into the living room with her. She waved politely to Charlie.
“Good evening, Chief Swan,” she said respectfully.

“Aw, call me Charlie. You’re Weber, right? Good parents you’ve got,” he nodded absentmindedly before turning back to the game. “You kids have fun.” Charlie clearly didn’t want any part in this girls’ night. Fine with me.

“Want anything to drink?” I asked Angela, heading for the kitchen to grab a couple of sodas.

“Sure, whatever you’re having is fine,” she said. She and I hiked up the stairs with the two cans. I nudged open the door to my bedroom, and she walked in. On the floor, I’d set up a sleeping bag for her with extra pillows and blankets. She set her overnight bag down on top of it before looking around my room.

“Oh, Bella!” She cried. I turned to see what she was looking at. The vase. Of course. I’d set Tyler’s roses in a smaller juice glass off to the side. Angela moved over to look at them closely.

“They aren’t from the same person, are they?” She asked, glancing over her shoulder at me.

“No, I don’t think so. I thought they were, until I put Tyler’s in the vase with the others,” I explained.

“No. They’re not the same. That means your secret admirer is still a secret.”

“And it means it’s not Tyler,” I added with relief.

“Could still be Mike,” she pointed out. I wrinkled my nose at the thought. Angela giggled softly.

“What would you like to do tonight? Pedicures? Movie?” I asked. Angela looked interested.

“We could start with pedicures,” she said. “And then play board games or something. Celebrate Singles’ Awareness Day, no?” There was just something about Angela, something utterly affectionate and warm and inviting. I couldn’t help but laugh with her about the whole thing despite how terribly my day had gone. Angela truly was a very good friend.

---

Movies, popcorn, pink toenail polish and a Ouija board later, I was in the bathroom getting ready to finally go to sleep. Charlie had crashed long ago, careful not to disturb the girly stuff going on upstairs.
I hopped out of the shower and dried my hair, pulled on my pajamas and started brushing my teeth. Finishing, I headed downstairs to make sure everything was in order before bed. I heard the refrigerator door close. I walked into the kitchen and saw Angela getting another soda. She smiled and offered one to me. I nodded, took it, and cut the lights.

Angela bounded up the stairs to my bedroom, and I followed in suit but nearly crashed into her back when she halted without warning in my doorway.

“What is it?” I asked. Angela pointed.

“Was that there before?”

I followed her gaze. There, on my bed lay three roses. There was a folded piece of paper next to them.

“No,” I said, my voice a hoarse whisper. Cautiously, I walked into the room and approached the roses on my pillow. They were identical to the nine perfect ones in my mystery admirer’s vase.

“So he was in here?” Angela murmured softly, looking around. Angela asked the question like it was normal. I could only imagine what implications would be threaded deeply within the question if Jessica had asked instead.

“It would appear so.”

“Has this happened before?” She asked.

“…yes.” Angela was the only one I would tell. She would never tell a soul, and she wouldn’t judge me for it. She said nothing more, only watched with intense eyes as the three roses fell among their brethren in the intricate glass vase.

Finally, the vase was complete. It was the perfect fit for the twelve roses, as if the final product had been planned from the beginning. The ribbon about the neck of the vase added the perfect accent to the otherwise glorious piece.

Then I turned my attention on the folded paper. Nervously, I picked it up. I fumbled a bit, trying to get the paper open. Finally it fell open and I gasped.

One Dozen Roses

Timeless perfection at its best

That naked Serenity hath undressed

A promise infolded in velvet prose,

The supple petal of the crimson rose

But a single stem alone is but a dream

As ephemeral as its very petals may deem

But roses in number far more than sole

Equate to meaning vastly untold

Each with a unique symbol true,

Not one less than ten and two.

One stands for brazen, bolded wit,

For which the norm is unequipped.

Another, a token of sweet virtue,

Blushing red for blushing true.

A third, a token of beauty divine,

Like the blazing stars do shine.

Compassion resonates within stem four,

And warmth the fifth does implore.

The sixth holds the modesty allure,

Charming chastity to be sure.

For each stem seven and eight,

Innocence and Selflessness permeate.

Nine holds the power of trust,

Sweet, naïve, but ever just.

Within the tenth righteousness burns,

Strong, powerful, as a soul yearns.

Intelligence is given to the rose eleven,

As wise and pure as an angel of heaven.

Twelve then takes the greatest of all,

Unrelenting courage and failure to fall.

Beneath attributes seemingly despaired,

Rest uncommon traits beyond compare.


Forget not the sin of superficiality:

Nothing compares to naive honesty.

Know naught that which appears to be,

See only that is.

I stared. It was my poem, with a little paragraph I couldn’t quite understand at the bottom. What was most striking about the poem, however, was that it wasn’t typed this time. It was handwritten. Not just any handwriting.

Edward’s handwriting.

My world froze. I stared at the note, rereading it over and over again. My heart was hammering, I could feel my palms beginning to sweat. Was this really true? Or some sick joke? I couldn’t tell. Had it really been him the whole time?

I didn’t dare hope.

---

The weekend had flown by in a complete daze after Friday night. Angela and I crawled into bed shortly after the rose incident. Monday had come back around. I was afraid. Very afraid. Would Edward say anything to me? Would he still ignore me? Would he deny it with repulsion?
For the first time in a while, I dreaded going to Biology. So, naturally, the other hours flew by like it was my last day on Earth. Tyler was wise to avoid me today, Mike asked once how I was. Angela was just smiling to herself the whole time.

Finally, Biology rolled around. Stupid Biology. Stupid Edward, stupid roses. As usual, Edward was sitting in his chair, erect, tight and hardly moving. Quietly, I took my seat next to him, daring not to look at him. I could feel his eyes staring at me, though. After many seconds of this, I could take it no longer. I turned to look up at him, only to be caught up in his golden gaze. All or nothing. Now or never. I took a deep breath.

“Was it you?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Edward didn’t answer right away, he just stared at me intensely. “Won’t you talk to me?” I pleaded. His lips twitched slightly but stayed tightly together.

“There is nothing to say,” he said, finally. His voice was strained.

“Was it you from the beginning?” I wasn’t going to let this drop. He seemed to sense this.

“Do you like roses?” He asked. I was completely caught off guard and did the only thing I could do while staring into his eyes — answer honestly.

“Yes, very much. Even more, now, I’ll admit.” I blushed brightly realizing I’d said more than I intended to. A smile twitched at the corner of his lips.

“Then that is all that matters,” he said with finality, looking back to the front of the classroom. His half-smile was still faint on his lips, however.

I felt giddy. I had a feeling Edward would go back to ignoring me for a while, but I felt strangely elated to know it had been him. The whole time, Edward Cullen had been stalking me, giving me roses. Why? I may never know. How he managed some of them? I could only imagine. Despite the confusion and questions, I felt strangely content.

Maybe Valentine’s Day wasn’t so bad, after all.